There's A Bastard In There
by Slut Queen Virgin King
Summary: Hermione, her post-Hogwarts job, and a nasty Snape. Based on the 'Real and True' challenge on WIKTT.


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THERE'S A BASTARD IN THERE

Hermione regarded herself as a practical woman. And a practical witch. Full of practical magic. The real stuff, not that Nicole Kidman bullshit. Striped socks - as if anyone would dress like that. Well, maybe Minerva Macgonagall, but who else in the whole world?

She stretched out her legs under her desk. A freed house elf massaged her tootsies. Not that she asked him to. He liked doing it. Wanted to do it. Needed to do it. Would burst at the seams if he couldn't massage her feet at least twice a day. And if those feet had just been in black leather high heeled boots(but no stripey socks), even better.

She recrossed her legs.

"Other foot, please, Dougie."

Dougie reached over and started massaging her left foot, sighing with happiness.

"Hermione Granger is very good to Dougie," he said. "May Dougie ask a favour?"

This was a surprise. She glanced down. "Yes?"

"Can Hermione Granger wear stockings tomorrow?"

She jerked her foot out of his gnarled hands. "No. I've told you before. Bad Dougie. Bad, bad Dougie! Go stand in the corner."

Dougie shivered with pleasure and stood himself in the dankest corner of her office. Hermione ignored him, which brought him greater pleasure, and got on with her book-keeping. She wasn't the millionaire she'd planned to be by now. Not even halfway there. She couldn't understand why. She ran a good business, oversaw all expenditure to the point of being a pain in the arse, and employed clever girls straight from Hogwarts, all of whom saw the advantage of this business. What was going on?

She totted up the figures again. No. It was no good. She had to start getting hands-on herself, which was more than Dougie would ever get. Find out exactly why she was losing money. Just how many of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Condoms did each girl use per session? Surely Ginny could not go through twenty five a day. Well, she could, but she wouldn't be able to sit down in any comfort afterwards. Perhaps there was a high percentage of breakage.

Time to find out for herself. She sighed. She hadn't done this since the old Hogwarts days. Tutoring be damned for $12 an hour, when the boys were willing to pay $50 for a quickie up on the Divination Tower(bet Trelawney never foresaw that). Hermione had quickly moved into administration and sub-contracted the Patil sisters, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, and gave part-time work to Ginny Weasley when she needed it.

Hermione thought she would be a millionaire by twenty five. Wrong. Running a Diagon Alley brothel was a costly business.

Hermione ventured downstairs. Ginny Weasley dozed over the booking sheet. Hermione slid it out from under her limp hand and ran down the list. The usual suspects. She stopped at one name. Severus? All the men went by first names. But there was only one man with so ludicrous a first name. Apart from poor Plonkiebonky Stonker, the new assistant in Flourish and Blott's, who liked to be serviced in the Restricted Section(he supplied the biting book, the girl supplied the goose feather and wintergreen oil).

Hermione grinned. All the way through school, Severus Snape had been a mystery to her. He occupied equal time in her fantasies with Sherlock Holmes, Star Trek's Mr Spock, and Voldemort. She fancied bad boys with a passion. Dreadfully misunderstood men with hearts of gold. She just knew it. Even though Holmes and Spock were fiction, and Voldemort was long dead and a complete nutter anyway. Hermione pinned her lustful hopes on Snape.

She ran her finger across the page and checked what he wanted. She swallowed. Ooookay…. She could do that. She supposed. How hard could it be?

He was due in ten minutes. Hermione rushed into the parlour, where Millicent and Pansy sat playing wizard chess, and quickly asked their advice.

"You're turning a trick?" Pansy asked.

"Anything you can do, I can do better." Hermione said the first thing that entered her head that didn't have to do with saving money, and wished she hadn't. Now she sounded like a boastful know-it-all. In fact, she suspected the two women sitting before her knew more about men and what they wanted than she'd learn in a lifetime of books.

The front doorbell rang, and she heard Ginny stagger off to answer it. The air vibrated with a familiar low voice.

"Is there anyone in particular you would like to see this evening?" Ginny trilled.

"Does it matter? Aren't they all the same?"

"No, not at all, Severus." Hermione could hear Ginny trying to be polite, and suppress seven years of Potions class vitriol. "Millicent is a very healthy girl who likes outdoor sports, mud wrestling, and horse wrangling. Pansy is another healthy girl with dark hair who is into the more exotic side of life. Padme-"

"Spare me the speil, Miss Weasley. I know these girls. I taught them. I taught you, remember? Is there one girl in this entire establishment who doesn't have the figure and features of a shetland pony?"

Hermione burst through the doors into the foyer. "I'll take this booking, Ginny," she said smoothly.

Severus looked her up and down. "You don't look strong enough," he said.

"Strong enough for what you want," she retorted.

He didn't smile. "Very well. I will take Miss Granger for one hour," he said.

Ginny handed over the condom, the tube of lube, and muttered that the dungeon was free.

Snape followed Hermione down into the dry basement of the house. It had cost considerable galleons to have it transformed into a dungeon worthy of the name. Snape rolled his eyes at the trappings. Evidently the chains and handcuffs were not going to be used.

He pushed past her into the room, while Hermione lingered in the doorway. She could do this. She could. She could. She thought she could. But this was Snape. All her fantasies rolled up into one. Her knees quaked and threatened to give way. He turned and looked at her.

"One hour, Miss Granger. Not all bloody day. I have no intention of extending this."

"Couldn't afford it on teacher's wages?" she quipped, ready to begin the abuse.

"Not worth it," he returned, surveying her form.

She could do this. She had given Draco Malfoy the tumble of his life back in 6th year, after all. She had found Hagrid a nice half-giantess on the quiet. She'd even fulfilled Ron Weasley's desire, even if it had cost her forty galleons in Quidditch cards that could never be used again in any recognisable fashion.

He pointed to the school desk tucked away in a corner. "Start there."

Hermione sidled over to the desk.

"Oh, for Merlin's sakes, girl, get changed first. I'm not likely to find your little work suit very enticing, am I? I thought you were Little Miss Know-It-All. Apparently not."

Bastard, Hermione thought, thrilling to the semi-dirty word in her mind. Mr Rochester, Heathcliff, Richard III. Yes, yes, baby, let me warm your ice.

She found a Gryffindor uniform in a closet and hid behind the door as she changed. It was very short, very tight and did nothing to hide her curves. When she emerged, she twirled before Snape. He looked her over again.

"Better."

Hermione slid into the seat behind the desk. Snape came to stand over her.

"Miss Granger," he purred. "I hear you've been a bad girl. You've ruined the Charms tutorial with your magic, and now you're here." He bent so that his face was close to her ear. His breath was slightly sour, like a man who had quaffed too much beer at lunch, and had nothing since. "Have you done your homework?"

She shivered as a lock of his long, black, hard, throbbing…..no, no, long black hair brushed her temple.

"N-no sir." She didn't have to fake the tremble in her voice. He was nearer to her now than he'd ever been in class.

"And why haven't you, Miss Granger?"

"I….ah….didn't have time, sir."

He brought his hand around her body and grabbed her right hand, forcing it open and flat. He slapped her palm hard.

"That is a terrible reason, Miss Granger. Shall we try again?"

She had never, never, never had to make up an excuse for late homework, not even in the hey day of her undergraduate brothel-keeping at Hogwarts. Not even the night Seamus Finnigan wanted a lesbian foursome and she had to fill in for two girls.

"I….um…..lost it. Yeah, the squid in the lake ate it."  
Slap, slap. "No, Miss Granger. You are trying my patience. Are you really as thick as you appear?"

She got hot under the collar, and in her crotch. "Well, screw you. It's the best I can come up with."

His groin was pressed into her back and she felt his cock start to rise. Ah, so that was his game. She summoned her hard voice.

"I didn't feel like doing my homework, sir. Half-arsed homework on a pathetic subject no one but old, scrawny, shrivel-dicked Potions Masters could care about."

He hauled her out of her seat and whirled her around to face him. "What did you say, you snot-nosed little Gryffindor?"

"I said that your homework is pathetic, your classes are beyond a joke, and that I wouldn't fuck you if you lit up and dispensed galleons."

He pushed her towards the bed. He was fully erect now.

"Listen to me, you nasty little girl, one more crack and I'll-"

"You'll what? Show me your sad excuse for a manhood?"

He sat down on the bed and pulled Hermione over his knees. Up went her skirt, down went her knickers, and his hand smacked smartly across her rear.

"Filthy dirty little Gryffindors who spend their time fucking rather than working need to be taught a lesson."

Hermione's cheeks were on fire as he kept striking her. She reminded herself that Mr Darcy's coldness disguised unbridled passion. That Dracula brought pleasure with his pain. Oh yessss. And there was the matter of the commission she'd get on this trick, if only she could keep up her line of patter.

"Is this the best you can do? A spanking? Oh, do you feel like a big, tough teacher now? You can give it, but can you take it?"

His dick jumped again. Hermione rose up and wrestled him back onto the bed. For a large man, he was easily turned onto his back and his backside exposed. Hermione used her nails to scratch him first, then she took to him first with the flat of her strong essay-writing hand, then with a ping pong paddle. And all the while, she ran down his teachings, his methodology, his grading system, his personal hygiene(no make-believe there. Did he always smell so strongly of crushed earwigs?), and occasionally suggested that too many years over a cauldron had left him impotent.

His snarls became moans as both forms of abuse took him beyond himself and into the place he wanted to be.

She timed it to perfection. There were fifteen minutes left when he finally took her, shoving the condom on with haste and pushing himself into her as he muttered obscenities. He came, swearing at it, with ten minutes to go, and Hermione felt him wriggling extra-deep into her. Yes, oh yes, Saruman. She came, very unprofessionally.

When she opened her eyes, Snape was staring down at her.

"Did you…?" he asked.

She blushed. "Er, yes."

"Well, don't. It's very distracting. Next time, try to control yourself."

Hermione smiled. She hadn't worked out where all the extra condoms and lube went, but there would be a next time. Yessssss!

***** *****

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Many thanks to the book THERE'S A BEAR IN THERE(and he wants Swedish).


End file.
